


The Hunger

by MoanDiary



Series: Moan Your Way Through Fuckruary [12]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fuckruary 2020 (Lucifer TV), Light Angst, Overstimulation, Post-Season/Series 04, Prompt: Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22779847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/pseuds/MoanDiary
Summary: There is something wild and desperate about Lucifer. Angry, almost. At his father, at his circumstances, at himself, perhaps even at her.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Moan Your Way Through Fuckruary [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626784
Comments: 27
Kudos: 273





	The Hunger

In the early days after Lucifer’s return, after they finally— _finally_ —come together, they are feral for each other.

There is something wild and desperate about Lucifer. Angry, almost. At his father, at his circumstances, at himself, perhaps even at her. There is tenderness, of course, but also a certain violence. A passion for making up for time and opportunities lost.

Chloe clings to him, arms tight around his shoulders, mouth open and panting against his neck, as he bounces her on his cock. She’s barely managing to hold on for the ride, to be honest, long past the point when she was capable of keeping up with him. The sound coming out of her mouth is one extended cry, volume wavering in time with his thrusts. It’s embarrassing, actually; she only thought women made sounds like that in porn. _Faked_ those sounds in porn.

But Lucifer is better than any muscle-bound porn star pounding away at a bored-looking woman; he’s right there with her, groaning and babbling fragmented praise and profanity, fingers digging into her hips almost too tightly, like he’s barely staying in control.

Her belly begins to clench, and her toes curl, and then orgasm overwhelms her. Lucifer’s pace doesn’t waver, and she’s immediately coming again, then—when he puts his thumb to work against her clit— _again,_ pussy spasming violently, a warm, wet rush between her legs as he fucks her through it. Then, finally, just when she thinks she can’t take any more, he pushes into her one last time and lets out a ragged cry, filling her twitching cunt.

They pant, mouths inches apart, until he finally pulls away the tiniest bit to look at the mess she’s left on his lap, a wolfish grin on his face. He lays her down on the bed and swiftly crawls between her legs, setting to work licking her juices off her inner thighs, and then their combined come from her entrance, moaning wantonly. She shivers as he finally returns to her clit, licking and sucking it diligently. She comes again in short order, then when he seems likely to keep at it, she sinks her hands into his hair and tugs at his head.

“Lucifer, that’s enough,” she pants.

He looks up at her, eyes black and heated. “It’s not anywhere _near_ enough.”

His mouth returns to her, and he slides three large, long fingers inside her, too. He curls them forward to press rhythmically into her G-spot and softens his mouth on her clit, simply leaving his hot, strong tongue pressed against it as a deeper, slower kind of orgasm slowly washes over her, one that makes all her muscles seize and her hips rise off the bed as her mouth stretches in a silent scream.

He’s already hard again, and when he pushes back into her, she can’t tell if she’s sated or still hungry for more. Her nerves fire in a confusion of pleasure and near-painful sensitivity. She writhes along with his slow, grinding thrusts, simultaneously wanting to squirm away and press closer. She’s not sure if she could come again from this, or whether she’s really stopped coming at all since the first time tonight, or what coming even really feels like anymore. Sex with him is a kind of brilliant, sharp-edged orgasmic bliss from the first graze of skin to the final separation.

She hisses when his abdomen grazes her clit, and she’s almost grateful his hands have come to rest entwined with hers against the mattress beside her head as he moves above her, rather than straying downwards to touch her. He could bring her off again if he wanted to, she’s sure of it. 

His pace quickens, grinding against her at the apex of his thrusts, each like a jolt of electricity through her over-sensitized nerves.

“Please,” she whimpers, “ _please,_ ” although she really doesn’t know what she’s begging for. 

“I need—need you to...to touch me,” he moans roughly, haltingly, releasing her hands and resting his weight on his forearms, head dipping low over hers, hanging locks of dark hair brushing her lips. Her fingertips roam the flexing hills and valleys of his shoulders and back before coming to rest on his face, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones, guiding him up to look into her eyes. She thinks it’s this that drives him over the edge, heralded by a handful of deep, shaking gasps. As expertly as he’s able to pleasure her, they both know that he’s more vulnerable to her by far.

The final crest, when it comes, lasts forever—a rolling spasm of sensation that makes her entire body clench. Not pleasant, exactly, nothing as simple as that. The feeling is a promise—that she is his and he is hers, and that they will only ever be this raw and this open and _feel so much_ around each other. 

She shakes like a leaf as she comes down, and he bundles her into his arms, resting a stubbled cheek wet with sweat and tears against the curve of her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voiced choked. She understands what he means.

“I love you,” she replies. He trembles and buries his face in her neck, like it’s too much to bear.


End file.
